“Have you had tea, John?” asked Mrs. Moran.
“No. Give me a good strong cup, Ava. I am tired with listening and feeling.”
She poured it out quickly, and after he had taken the refreshing drink, Cornelia asked—
“Is madame very ill?”
“She is wonderfully well. It is her husband.”
“Captain Jacobus?”
“Who else? She has brought him home, and I doubt if she has done wisely.”
“What has happened, John? Surely you will tell us!”
“There is nothing to conceal. I have heard the whole story—a very pitiful story—but yet like enough to end well, Madame told me that the day after her sister-in-law’s burial, James Lauder, a Scotchman who had often sailed with Captain Jacobus, came down to Charleston to see her. He had sought her in New York, and been directed by her lawyer to Charleston. He declared that having had occasion to go to Guy’s Hospital in London to visit a sick comrade, he saw there Captain Jacobus. He would not admit any doubt of his identity, but said the Captain had forgotten his name, and everything in connection with his past life; and was hanging about the premises by favour of the physicians, holding their horses, and doing various little services for them.”
“Oh how well I can imagine madame’s hurry and distress,” said Cornelia.